


I'm not a poet

by Questioning_TrashCan



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/F, Humanstuck, Short Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8236961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Questioning_TrashCan/pseuds/Questioning_TrashCan
Summary: But I can make you love me





	

It's a long time before you see her again. When you do, the circumstances are not ideal.

You've both aged far beyond the years you spent giggling in a blanket fort and fighting imaginary pirates, dragons, and villains that threatened to steal your ice cream. You've forgotten what it's like to not be serious all the time.

You no longer daydream about hunting mythical creatures, now your mind drifts to the imminence of what to make for dinner, or what word would suit your speech better than 'abscond'. You no longer spend your nights huddled in a corner with your best friend and partner in crime by your side, but hunched over a desk as you try to make ends meet. It's been a while since you've gotten cases like you used to. Nobody really has the money to pay if you don't deliver.

And you haven't been delivering lately, too distracted by other things.

Other people, more specifically. An old friend, a former partner in crime. 

Vriska Serket.

You miss her, there's no denying that. You've always missed her. It's natural. But that friendship ended the day you moved away, so there's nothing else you can really do about it.

Until she wandered back into your life, flicking her hair and swaying her hips in a way that changed your whole perspective of her.

Because up until today, she was frozen in time. She was still that little condescending prick of a toddler that smacked you on the first day you met, the same one that told you all her secrets and cried on your shoulder when there was no one else to listen. You were always there. Until you weren't.

She smacks you when she walks in, not accidental like all those years ago.

This time it carries meaning. It doesn't hurt much physically.

You gesture for her to sit down, doing so yourself. You weave your fingers together under you chin, elbows resting on the desk in front of you, looking up at her.

"You're tall," is the first thing you say.

She scoffs, crossing her arms. "And you're not even close. Is that all you have to say to me?"

You shrug, letting your hands drop as you lean back in the chair. "I will hear what you have to say about your case, Ms Serket, then I will ask you to leave. I have more appointments today and I can't have you holding me up. I will get back to you this afternoon to let you know if I will take the case or not."

"Oh you'll take it." She plonks her ass down in one of the two seats on the other side of the desk, crossing her legs as well.

You cock an eyebrow, skeptical. "Let's hear it then."

She takes a moment to compose herself, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath in. Then she speaks. "Please don't speak until I'm done." You suspect that preparatory breath was simply to say the word please. She's always had a lot of misplaced pride.

You nod in acknowledgement.

"I'm no poet. I'm no Shakespeare, and I can't rhyme for shit. But I can make you love me, Pyrope." The mention of your name sends a little shiver down your spine. It's been so long since you've heard it on her lips. "I don't know where either of us went wrong - perhaps neither of us did. But we've been pulled apart to fend for ourselves and I spent so long believing it was my fault that you left."

"Ms Serket I don't think this has anything to do with-"

"Still talking, Pyrope." You nod gently, linking your fingers under your chin again as you listen. "I'm no poet. I'm not a stanza of pathetic lines and sweet nothings that earn the name from what they are - nothing. I'm not structured and focused, I'm not strong like a red string to bridge the gaps of what we missed. I'm not your missing link. You're mine, and I understand now that's how it will stay. Until one of us gives up.

A part of me already knew, but now I'm convinced that you did long ago."

You're silent for a moment.

"I'll get back to you within three business days," your voice is even, but you don't trust yourself to make any gestures in case you're shaking.

She looks you up and down, swallows, stands, and then leaves.

It's less than three days before you see her again.


End file.
